


Mycroft Strikes Again

by Arnie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Arnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of a sequel to Safe House.  Mycroft tries to kidnap John (again).  John objects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft Strikes Again

John buried his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind as he hurried home from the surgery. Sherlock would probably berate him (again) for not taking a taxi home, but the bus stop really wasn't that far from Baker Street and it saved a large chunk of change if he caught the bus instead of a taxi. Naturally, Sherlock's answer to that had been "Phone Mycroft and tell him you'll take that bribe!" but John wasn't reduced to that. Yet.

It really was cold. John tucked his chin into his collar, and considered how much he could spare for a thicker coat. Not nearly enough, he suspected, even if he checked out the local charity shops. Oh well, he could always wear one of his thicker jumpers, even if it meant he had to ignore Sherlock's comments about Michelin men. Anyway, the burlier he looked, the better; John felt he was less likely to get kidnapped if he gave off the air of being well able to take care of himself.

As if summoned by the thought, a sleek black car purred its way to his side.

John groaned. Not again - especially not after the last time. He stepped away from the kerb, backing up to the wall. "Not today, Mycroft; I'm busy."

The chauffeur opened the back door, and John caught sight of Mycroft's face, smiling politely at him. "This won't take long, John, and the car is quite pleasantly heated."

John bet it was, but even that wasn't enough to tempt him. "Not today. Maybe next week." Or the week after. Or never. John felt that he really needed to take a stand and show Mycroft that it just wasn't done to keep on kidnapping him. He had his pride, after all.

There was a brief pause, then Mycroft flicked a glance at the chauffeur, who released the door and approached John. John, however, had suspected that would be Mycroft's next move, and he promptly turned tail and fled up the street, pretty sure that the chauffeur wouldn't abandon Mycroft to chase him. He was right. He heard the car door shut, then the engine start up, and he ducked down a side road with a feeling of satisfaction.

That quickly faded, however, when the car followed him, and Mycroft's voice murmured politely from the window, "This really is pointless, you know, John."

Ignoring him, John dived up the next alleyway, turned right onto a one way street, and spent the next ten minutes threading his way through various alleyways and side roads until he was positive he'd left Mycroft and his car far behind. There, he reflected, that hadn't been too difficult. He crossed the road and headed back in the direction of Baker Street, wondering if it'd do any good to ask Sherlock to have a word with his brother, or whether Sherlock would take it as an opportunity to urge the convenience of taxis upon him, as if they were both made of money. Well, Sherlock might be happy to single-handedly support the taxi drivers of London, but John had other things to spend his money on, and his frugal soul balked at pouring his hard-earned wages into a taxi meter.

As that ubiquitous black car appeared once more, John silently admitted he was beginning to see the attraction of taxis that took you door to door with no chance for 'minor officials' to hijack you enroute. Well, unless the cabbie was working for them.

"John -"

John didn't wait for anything more; he took off up the street like the hounds of hell were after him. Another one way street and an alleyway later, John emerged onto the pavement and promptly backtracked as the car glided to a halt in front of him. Reaching the other end of the alleyway, he took a quick look around, then hurried off up the street, feeling more than a little harassed. To his annoyed disbelief, the car rounded the corner before he reached the top, so back again he went, his legs pumping as he fled towards the protection of the alleyway.

"John, please do get into the car," Mycroft said, his voice still as polite as ever.

"Bugger off!" John panted; he was far beyond being polite.

"Harker..."

John reached the alleyway, but the car was there before him, suddenly swerving into his path and blocking the narrow entrance. He collided with the side of the car and clung to it, his heart thumping crazily as his chest heaved with his efforts to catch his breath. He felt as if he'd run a marathon, and he felt extremely resentful of Mycroft, who was looking cool, calm and collected. His breath was still wheezing in his throat when he realised the chauffeur was out of the car and the back door was standing open. John tried to push the door shut, but Harker simply peeled him off the side of the car, one hand on the scruff of John's neck, then assisted him into the car.

As soon as John was settled in place and the door was shut, Mycroft spoke. "Did that assuage your manly pride?" he enquired, a note of polite curiosity in his voice.

"I do have a phone, you know," John managed, still panting for breath. He turned his head and gazed at Mycroft, slightly distracted by the delicious heat. "At least, you ought to know that; you keep on texting me."

"Yes. I thought it would be better to ask in person." Mycroft frowned at the passing scenery. "You know what Sherlock's like; he hates me knowing anything. He'd undoubtedly delete the text before you saw it."

"Sherlock doesn't read my -" John broke off. "What am I talking about? Of course he reads my texts."

Mycroft looked faintly surprised. "Did you really think he doesn't? You're so naive! It's quite refreshing, really."

John felt distinctly annoyed at that, and at the approving look on Mycroft's face, but he swallowed his anger and asked, "So, what is it this time? Spying on Sherlock? Booby trapping his violin? Giving you some of the body parts out of the fridge?" Actually, now John came to think of it, that last one wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe he could send Mycroft a parcel. John's gaze slid to Harker and he thought again. No, definitely not. God knew what kind of trouble he'd get in for sending the government a severed head.

There was a soft chuckle, then Mycroft said, his tone suddenly serious, "I do hope you were joking about that one, John. I really can't recommend it."

"Yeah, don't worry. I thought better of it." John settled himself more comfortably in his seat. Well, since he was here... "So, what is it you want?"

"Well, I don't like to pry, but please do tell me all about Sherlock's unnatural obsession with Ms. Adler."

The end

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before series 2 aired, so is slightly AU now.


End file.
